


The Truth Is All That You're Left With

by hellhounds4sale



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Hannibal, M/M, Post Season 3, general Hannibal level warnings for violence cannibalism etc, this is mostly just fluff tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 14:15:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11037864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhounds4sale/pseuds/hellhounds4sale
Summary: Hannibal's still stood in the main cabin where he left him. Bruised and battered, he sways faintly in time with the slow rocking of the boat. Hannibal doesn't turn to greet him when Will clatters down the stairs into the cabin, just continues to frown over at the boat's small kitchenette instead.“You bought a houseboat.” He says.“Yes.”“In the South of France.”“Yes.”





	The Truth Is All That You're Left With

**Author's Note:**

> (Both the title and lyrics used within are from 'The Road to Mandalay' by Robbie Williams - which is a shockingly apt song for post season three Hannigram that I pretty much listened to on repeat while writing this.)

_Save me from drowning in the sea_  
_Beat me up on the beach_  
_What a lovely holiday_  
_There's nothing funny left to say_

#

 

Will drops the last chlorine tablet into the boats water tank and snaps the filler cap back into place. When he stands his hair catches in a branch of one of the trees overhanging the bit of riverbank they're moored at. He brushes it away, hissing softly under his breath when the movement tugs at his wounds and then makes his careful way back around the side of the boat.

Hannibal's still stood in the main cabin where he left him. Bruised and battered, he sways faintly in time with the slow rocking of the boat. Hannibal doesn't turn to greet him when Will clatters down the stairs into the cabin, just continues to frown over at the boat's small kitchenette instead.

“You bought a houseboat.” He says.

“Yes.”

“In the South of France.”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“About two years ago.” Will steps past Hannibal towards the boats lounge area and the overstuffed sofa waiting temptingly for him. He can't resist reaching out a hand to brush across the small of Hannibal's back in passing though, just reassuring himself that it really is Hannibal stood there, solid and real. Hannibal shudders at his touch and twists around to finally look at him.

“For family vacations?”

“No. I never brought anyone here. Only been to see her the once when I bought her. There's a man in the village that's been dealing with her upkeep for me.” He sinks into the softness of the sofa with a groan and smiles faintly when Hannibal twitches at the sound.

Will's exhausted, this is the first real chance he's had to relax since he woke to Hannibal dragging him from the bitter cold of the sea. That was three days ago, two suspect chartered flights that have cleared out a good chunk of his savings, a trip through the Paris Métro, and a longer train ride across France until he could pay cash for a battered second hand Renault Laguna from a man in Toulouse and drive them the rest of the way to the Abigail's mooring. He fights the urge to close his eyes and quietly watches Hannibal where he's still stood across the room. A part of him doesn't want to blink even, scared that if he does Hannibal will dissolve into yet another unsubstantial hallucination and this will turn out to be just one more wistful daydream.

“How long have you been planning this Will?” Hannibal asks eventually, something deep and heavy like waves closing above their heads in his voice.

Will shrugs and then winces at the movement. “Only for a little while. That wasn't why I got her though, I just needed somewhere that could be just ours. Just in case,” He pauses, lifts his head slightly to catch Hannibal's eyes. “Somewhere to dream about.”

Hannibal actually whines, low and keening and blissful, shudders so hard he has to reach a hand out to steady himself on the edge of the kitchen counter. Will smiles, wiggles carefully back into the welcoming embrace of the sofa and watches gleefully as Hannibal slowly recomposes himself.

“Ours.” Hannibal says, that deep something echoing in the undercurrents of his voice again. Hannibal takes another look around the main cabin. At the grubby gray carpet, the cluttered kitchenette, the small television set perched on the edge of a battered writing desk. He can't quite keep the look of distaste from his face and Will muffles his laughter in the arm of the sofa as the look only deepens the more Hannibal takes in. His face softens when he turns back to look at Will though, and Will's stomach tightens pleasantly in response. For that, he takes pity.

“I figure we can fix her up together. Make a proper home this time.”

“Yes,” Hannibal hisses out, eyes fluttering closed. He sways with the boat and then opens his eyes with a sigh that catches in his throat like a religious experience. Will lifts a hand lazily to beckon him over and Hannibal stumbles forward, climbing onto the sofa and presses as close to Will as he can get, curling around him shakily and burying his face against the side of Will's neck to take deep desperate breaths of his scent. “ _Yes_.”

 

#

_This sombre song would drain the sun_  
_But it won't shine until it's sung_  
_No water running in the stream_  
_The saddest place we've ever seen_

#

 

Will's running the power washer across the Abigail's decking when the Renault pulls into the marina they're moored in. He flips the washer off and moves over to the boat's railing to watch Hannibal step from the car.

“You need a hand?” He calls as Hannibal opens the trunk of the car and pulls out what appears to be the first of many brown paper shopping bags.

“No thank you.” Hannibal replies, gathering paper bags in his arms with casual ease before turning towards Will and the boat, and freezing. The small, welcoming smile on his face twists up into something far more hungry as he stares at Will.

Will laughs softly at the look, well aware of the sight he must make right now and sets his hip against the boat's railing to let Hannibal look his fill. He's ditched his shirt in the heat of the midday sun and the canvas shorts he's wearing are soaked through from the splash of the power washer. A month and a bit since they first stumbled onto the Abigail, and the worst of his wounds are healing well, but he can still feel Hannibal's gaze lingering on them.

“You buy out the whole farmers market Hannibal?” He teases, reaching up to brush damp curls away from his forehead, chest warming with glee as Hannibal's eyes track the movement hungrily. Will's never going to tire of the way Hannibal devours him with a look. The knowledge that Hannibal could easily do so more than metaphorically just makes the thrill burn that much brighter. “You do remember we've only the one mini fridge right?”

Hannibal shoots him a sour look at that, less than happy at the reminder of the pitiful state of their kitchen. Will shrugs unrepentantly, they can't risk accessing any of Hannibal's hidden accounts for a while longer, so Hannibal will just have to live with it for the moment. Not so secretly Will's enjoying watching Hannibal rough it, but then he always did find the sight of Hannibal puttering around Wolf Trap strangely compelling. It's something about seeing Doctor Lecter in his pressed suits surrounded by what is very much _Will's_ territory.

Will grins and blows Hannibal a kiss. The dazed and just slightly disgruntled look Hannibal gives him in return only adds to the warm bubbling of glee in his chest. He's loose and warm with the sunshine, giddy with the knowledge that he has Hannibal close enough to touch whenever he wants to and thrilled with the fact that Hannibal would _let him._ Still grinning he reaches down to pick up the pressure washer again but pauses when Hannibal speaks.

“I've changed my mind, I would like that hand.”

“Ah, so you do need help sometimes.”

“That too.” Hannibal says, voice intense and he watches Will like a hawk as he climbs down off the boat's upper deck and jumps across to the river bank.

Will reaches out to take a paper bag from his arms but Hannibal steps away sharply, sets the shopping bags down on the ground and then grabs hold of Will's hips instead. He spins them, backing Will up until his back thumps against the side of the Renault. A moment later and Hannibal's plastered against his front, the soft cotton of his shirt cool against the sun warmth of Will's chest. Hannibal presses in close, desperate hunger in his eyes where they're locked on Will's. His hands cling tightly to Will's hips, foreheads pressed together and a low needing sound breaks from his mouth. Will takes pity and kisses him.

Hannibal's lips are thin compared to the women Will's used to kissing, but his mouth is as hot and as wet as anyone else's. Will swallows down the soft cry Hannibal makes and slides his tongue into Hannibal's mouth. He tastes like - well like anyone's mouth does really - with the faint hint of something meaty and heavily spiced, probably something he tried at the market. His tongue though is a revelation when it slides against Will's in greeting. Hannibal groans something soft and pleased between their mouths when Will lifts a hand to cradle the curve of Hannibal's jaw, his other curling into place around his waist to grab a handful of Hannibal's shirt.

The kiss turns rough, something hard and sloppy that's been far too long in coming. The sun warm metal of the car scalds Will's back but he doesn't care, focused on the hungry clutch of Hannibal's hands on his sides, on the pressure of lips against his, and the wet rasp of tongues. They kiss until their lips are numb, until they're both breathless and shaking and finally have to break apart. Will shudders, moves his hands to stroke them soothingly up and down the length of Hannibal's back, and lets Hannibal bury his face in the crook of his neck.

As first kisses go it's not bad.

 

#

_Everything I touched was golden_  
_Everything I loved got broken_  
_On the road to Mandalay_  
_Every mistake I've ever made_  
_Has been rehashed and then replayed_  
_As I got lost along the way_

#

 

Will's on the way back from a shopping trip into Bordeaux - the back of the car loaded full with wood and miscellaneous carpentry tools - when he sees the dog. It's sat at the side of the road, a small puddle of matted, dirty fur and Will's heart breaks. He pulls the Renault over at the opposite side of the road, not wanting to startle the little thing, and grabs the leftovers of the sandwich he'd bought for lunch as he gets out of the car.

A bit of careful coaxing, a couple of slices of lackluster ham, and a lot of gentle talking later and the small dogs safely settled onto the passenger seat of the Renault. Will spares a moment to softly rub at her floppy ears and the dog whines in response pressing her head closer to Will's hand.

“It's alright,” He soothes, moving to scratch at the ruff of her neck. “Let's get you home and cleaned up yeah?” He did a quick check over before he took her to the car, and she doesn't seem to be hurt, just dirty and too skinny, and with no tags. Hallmarks of an abandoned dog. Still, he'll have to find out where the nearest vet is once he gets them back to the boat, just in case.

The dog spends the rest of the trip napping, obviously worn out from her adventures and Will can't help but pet at her soothingly whenever he stops for lights. The soft sound of doggy breathing is intensely soothing, and Will hadn't realized quite how much he missed the sound of it until now.

When the car pulls into the marina, Hannibal appears in the Abigail's doorway almost instantly. Something at the sight tugs sharply at Will's heart even as he braces himself for a possible fight. Hannibal smiles at him, small and warm, when he gets out of the car and Will can't help but smile back, feeling the echo of the kiss Hannibal pressed on his lips before he left that morning.

“Did you get everything?” Hannibal asks, the Abigail's metal gangplank creaking under his weight as he makes his way towards the car. Will grins sheepishly in response and Hannibal pauses, instantly suspicious.

“Yeah, I did. Got uh, something extra too.” Will says, and then bites the bullet, opening the passenger side door and gathering the small dog into his arms before turning to face Hannibal. For a moment Hannibal only stares, quiet and far too still for Will's liking and then he sighs, a heavy, aggravated sound.

“Of course,” He shakes his head, turning away to head back into the boat and something drops heavy and cold into Will's stomach for a moment before Hannibal speaks again. “You'd best take it to the water pump then, I'll fetch your shampoo and a bowl.”

The dog whines and gives a halfhearted wiggle in his arms that breaks Will from the shock of the moment. He grins down at her and she stares back at him with big soulful eyes.

“Well, how about that girl.” He says and then trots obediently over to the water pump to wait for Hannibal's return.

It takes four goes with the shampoo to get all the dirt out of her fur, and a good hour plus sat carefully untangling knots with Hannibal's comb (surrendered to the cause with only one put-upon sigh) before the dogs anywhere near clean enough for Hannibal to let her on board. Her fur turns out to be shaggy white patched with gray and brown under all the dirt, and the more of her personality that shows through with every subsequent soaping the more Will falls deeper in love.

He falls deeper in love with Hannibal too when halfway through the wash Hannibal returns with a bowl full of finely diced steak that was meant to be for their dinner. Uncaring of the soap clinging to his hands, Will reaches up to grab at Hannibal's shirt, dragging him down for a kiss. Gratifyingly, Hannibal doesn't seem to care much about the state of his shirt when they're done either.

“What are you going to call her?” Hannibal asks that evening when they're curled up together on the sofa with the little dog asleep by their feet.

Hannibal's hand is pressed daringly against Will's stomach under his shirt and he's burrowed his face against Will's neck to better scent him once again. Will considers the question for a while, his own hand moving to rest on top of Hannibal's, both intimate and stopping Hannibal's hand from straying any further than he's comfortable with yet.

“Beverly.” He says after a while and is treated to a low sound of consideration from Hannibal behind him.

“You're a sentimental man Will.”

“Suppose so.” Will shrugs. He's not sure it is sentimentality so much as a need to surround himself with reminders of his past mistakes. Either way, he liked Beverly, and he likes the small dog whose won his heart so easily. It seems fitting.

Hannibal seems to catch onto his mood, and presses closer still, his hand tightening against Will's stomach until Will gives in and relaxes back against Hannibal's chest.

Beverly snuffles in her sleep, small paws twitching.

 

#

_There's nothing left for you to give_  
_The truth is all that you're left with_  
_Twenty paces then at dawn_  
_We will die and be reborn_

#

 

Sawdust tickles at his nose and Will sneezes, stepping back from the workbench as he does so. Beverly brays warningly from beside his feet and he laughs, bending down to give her a good scratch behind a floppy ear.

“Gonna fight the sawdust for me girl?” He asks and laughs again when she answers him with another round of low huffing barks. Beverly, it turns out, is a very vocal dog, he's even caught her howling along with songs on the radio. Will is utterly charmed.

“I would hope she'd win.” Comes Hannibal's voice from behind them and Beverly instantly breaks from Will's side to lope across to him, tail wagging fast enough to almost achieve flight.

Hannibal spares a moment to give her a pat in greeting and affection bubbles up through Will's chest in response. It must show on his face when Hannibal turns back towards him because Hannibal's expression twists into something almost achingly tender. He reaches up to brush sawdust from Will's hair and Will sighs happily, rocking towards him for a kiss. Their lips have barely touched when the peace of the moment is shattered by a barrage of French shouting.

For a second Hannibal's face twists into something vicious as he jerks away, twisting sharply to pin the man stood a meter or so from them with a hard look. As it turns out a vague knowledge of Cajun French only gets you go far, and while Will's French is improving by leaps and bounds under Hannibal's tutelage, the flurry of heavily accented yelling is nigh on impossible to follow properly. He gets just enough to know its rude though and very likely homophobic.

Hannibal replies, face now a mask of perfect calm, voice pitched to carry but otherwise non-aggressive. It's at odds with the tension Will can see rippling beneath his surface. The man steps closer, voice rising in anger in response and Beverly growls warningly. Will goes to grab her collar but she darts forward before he can, a small furry blur streaking towards the man, barking up a storm as she goes. Then falls back with a yelp when the man kicks her.

Everything goes still.

Hannibal twitches once in Will's peripheral vision and that's all the warning he gets before the wooden plank Will's been shaping into a shelf slams into the side of the man's head. He drops, not unlike a sack of flour and Beverly scampers back over to continue her tirade of barks at his unconscious form. Will drops the plank in favor of checking that she's unharmed and shushing her. When he straightens Hannibal's staring at him, eyes alight with glee, and practically vibrating.

“Will.” He breathes the name like a prayer and Will shrugs self consciously. Alright, so Will wasn't intending on discussing the subject of hunting just yet - they can't, after all, afford to draw attention to themselves - but apparently fate has played his hand early.

“Help me get him into the boat?” He asks and gets the joy of watching Hannibal's eyes flutter half shut in apparent bliss.

They're fortunate it's not quite tourist season yet, so the marina is still and quiet, most of the boats still tucked up in their berths. Between the two of them it's an easy job to get the man inside, with navigating riverbank and thin gangplank the only moment that gives them any difficulty. Will defers to Hannibal's expertise in these matters and helps dump the man unceremoniously into the boat's small bathtub, fetching duck-tape to bind his arms.

“Would you like to do the honors?” Hannibal asks, holding out the kitchen knife he's just fetched. Will takes in the hungry look in Hannibal's eyes, the way he's leaning ever so slightly towards him and then reaches out for the knife silently.

The man's just starting to come round when Will sits down on the rim of the bathtub. For a moment Will basks in the moment as first awareness then fear dawns on the man's face, and strikes out when the man's mouth opens to yell. The knife - kept fastidiously sharp under Hannibal's care - slices through his throat like it's butter and Hannibal actually groans when blood spurts, hot and red across Will's arm. Hannibal moves closer, until his legs are pressed up against Will's back, and they watch as life drains from the man's eyes as his blood fills up the bathtub. Will makes a mental note to empty the black water tank under the cover of darkness tonight.

It turns into a bit of a circus after that with two grown men trying to navigate a space hardly large enough for one, half of that taken over by the body of their kill, and one small dog insistently demanding she be included in the venture. Eventually, Will gives up, presses a kiss to Hannibal's cheek before picking up Beverly and leaving him to his butchery, retreating back outside to make sure there's no sign of the earlier struggle.

There isn't, but he's no real desire to squish himself back into a small bathroom heavy with the stink of blood and offal, even if is willing to admit (to himself at least) that Hannibal is terribly attractive when absorbed in his work. Instead, he picks up the plank he was working on and gives it a once-over. There's a splatter of blood on one end of it but it's otherwise undamaged. Under a coat of stain and varnish it should look like any other discoloration, and somehow he thinks Hannibal will enjoy that small trophy.

He switches on the radio and returns to his earlier work of shaping the new shelf. Beverly settles back down by his feet and occasionally howls along to the songs playing. Will laughs when she does and joins in with the songs he knows. Shelf shaped and sanded carefully around the bloodstain, he coats it in a layer of varnish and leaves it to dry.

Hannibal greets him in the kitchenette with a glass of water. There's a speck of blood just under his jaw and Will wipes it away with his thumb. After a moment of hesitation where Hannibal stares at him intently he pops it into his mouth. Hannibal's eyes darken and he takes the glass of water from Will's hands before gripping his hips.

“I believe we were rudely interrupted before.” He says and tugs Will in closer to kiss him again, tongue chasing the faint taste of blood around Will's mouth.

Later, Will helps Hannibal stock their little fridge with as much meat as they can. And after dinner - heart and tongue, with a small portion of both going into Beverly's bowl – they wrap the rest of the kill in a spare tarpaulin and take the Abigail out on a late evening cruise down the canal. While Hannibal deals with the body disposal, Will empties the black water tank and makes sure the tub is scrubbed clean.

The next morning Will screws the new shelf into place above the bed in the master bedroom, and when he lies down that night he's greeted to the welcoming sight of the bloodstain.

 

#

_I like to sleep beneath the trees_  
_Have the universe at one with me_  
_Look down the barrel of a gun_  
_And feel the moon replace the sun_

#

 

A month later and they're finally able to safely access one of Hannibal's accounts. It couldn't have happened sooner as far as Will's concerned, if he'd had to put up with Hannibal's sulking over the state of the kitchenette for much longer he'd have jumped overboard.

For the most part, he lets Hannibal have free reign with the Abigail's redesign, though he puts his foot down at any redecoration of her outer-hull. They sail the boat up to Toulouse where she's pulled from the water and left in the capable hands of the team Hannibal has hired.

They find a restaurant for lunch – lovely to Will, passable for Hannibal – and spend the meal hashing out the last of the changes with the head designer. Hannibal wants the kitchenette fully updated and enlarged; the spare bedroom, unused as it is, ripped out and a proper bathroom put in its place. Will insists on tiles for the floor instead of Hannibal's preferred hardwood in deference to the damage he knows Beverly's claws will do otherwise, and then tunes out the rest of the conversation.

The next couple of weeks are spent living out of hotels. They move around the city more for the change in scenery than anything else, but keeping each hotel stay to no longer than a week helps them to appear like any other tourists. Toulouse is a lovely city to be stuck in though and Will lets Hannibal drag him around to restaurants and museums as the desire strikes him. Still, this is the longest they've spent in any one city since they arrived in France and watching the tourists mill around the city Will can't help but wonder about some things.

Will rises and dresses early the next morning. He clips Beverly's leash into place and smiles when he stands back up to find Hannibal staring at him, sleepy-eyed, from the bed. He heads over to press a kiss to Hannibal's cheek.

“You're going out?” Hannibal croaks, turning his head to kiss Will's cheek in turn.

“Yeah. I should be back by tonight, but don't worry if I'm not.”

“Ok.” Hannibal says, obviously curious but willing to let it go.

“Go back to sleep, I'll see you soon.” Will says. Hannibal murmurs in agreement before shifting across the bed to nuzzle into Will's abandoned pillow. He's asleep again before Will even makes it out the hotel room's door.

He buys a ticket at the _Gare Toulouse Matabiau_ for the high-speed train to Barcelona and then grabs breakfast for himself from a coffee shop in the station. He amuses himself imagining Hannibal's reaction to the lukewarm, bitter coffee and half stale _pain au chocolat_ until it's time to board the train.

Beverly spends the train ride being showered in affection by the little girl sat next to them. Her mother smiles at Will with tired eyes and he brings them back lunch from the food car when he grabs his own as thanks for keeping an eye on Beverly. Three hours later they arrive in Barcelona and Beverly reluctantly parts company with her new best friend. Will buys her a sausage from a street vendor outside the train station in compensation.

Will takes a taxi to the nearest department store and buys a small net-book and a backpack to carry it in. He pays in cash and waves away the tellers attempts to sell him insurance, then spends a while walking around Barcelona until he stumbles across a McDonald's. He ties Beverly up in front of it much to the joy of the kids sat eating nearby.

Will orders a coffee, a bottle of water for Beverly and, feeling rebellious, a quarter pounder menu. Hannibal will somehow manage to smell it on him later and he knows it, but honestly, that's half of the appeal. He gets the password to the free Wi-Fi before heading back outside with his order.

Beverly rests her head on his knee and stares mournfully at his fries while Will sets up the new net-book and then connects to the Wi-Fi. He takes a sip of his coffee, finally gives in and hands Beverly a single fry, and then gathers his courage and opens the net-books internet browser.

Half an hour, a cup of cold coffee, and three more fries for Beverly later Will sits back in his chair to process. They are officially: unofficially missing, presumed dead. The FBI's official stance is that: from the amount of blood at the scene, the trail leading to the edge of the cliff, and the lack of any confirmed sightings since, it's very unlikely that either of them survived the fall. There is, tellingly, no mention of Jack in any press release to do with the case. Will wonders if he's even still with the FBI, though really it makes no difference in the long run. With them or without, Jack's still going to be hunting them, will probably always be hunting them.

TattleCrime is milking them for all their worth though, with almost weekly articles claiming kills from all over the world as their work. Exactly how Freddie thinks they're managing to travel from Japan to Belarus in less than a day Will has no idea, but he does have to admit to some affection for her utter doggedness in 'pursuing' them. Idly Will wonders if it'll be Jack or Freddie who'll find them first, and whether he's looking forward to them doing so or not.

Will pokes around online idly for a while longer, but doesn't find anything really interesting. Part of him thinks he should be more curious how Molly and Walter are doing, but he really isn't. They feel like people he knew a lifetime ago, inconsequential to his new life. He consoles himself with the thought that it's probably for the best, he can't imagine how they could ever fit into his life with Hannibal. Or how they could possibly survive it. Just to be on the safe side he does a few quick google searches for other active killers mentioned on TattleCrime and then packs up his stuff.

The train ride back to Toulouse is made across from a man who spends the whole trip shooting Beverly filthy looks. Will entertains himself imagine all the creative ways he could spend an evening crafting him into something beautiful with Hannibal. Three hours fly by so much faster with such lovely thoughts keeping him company, but it also leaves him feeling uncomfortably anxious to see Hannibal again.

Unfortunately, he gets back to an empty hotel room. Assuming Hannibal's still out at dinner and too exhausted to venture out for food himself, he orders room service, puts food and water down for Beverly, then curls up on the bed and switches the TV on to keep him company while he waits for Hannibal.

He wakes later to Hannibal's hand stroking through his hair and the soft press of lips against his temple.

“Come, Will, you can't sleep in your clothes and you stink of grease.” Hannibal chides softly, helping Will to his feet and then steering him firmly towards the bathroom.

Sleepily, Will lets Hannibal undress him. He doesn't really need the help but the look on Hannibal's face is so tender it seems cruel to refuse him. Once naked he resists when Hannibal tries to lead him towards the shower though, and instead reaches for Hannibal's jacket, sliding it from his shoulders. Hannibal takes the hint and steps back to remove his own clothes as Will settles a hip against the bathroom counter and enjoys the impromptu show.

They shower together in peaceful silence. It's something shockingly tender, a moment caught in time between the hot billowing of steam and the heady scent of the body wash Hannibal prefers, and the slick slide of their hands across each other's skin. Despite sharing a bed for the past couple of months they've never done anything more intimate than kiss, but here in this moment, it seems perfectly reasonable for Hannibal to lift Wills arms to grip the shower head and then sink gracefully to his knees when Will's cock swells and rises.

It's over quick, Hannibal's mouth is hot and clever and he pulls back to catch Will's release on his tongue when he comes. He moans at the taste, eyes fluttering closed in bliss and Will threads his fingers through Hannibal's wet hair and watches as he spills between his fingers a moment later.

They curl close together in the bed later, pajamas and boxers abandoned for the night in favor of the press of skin to skin, and Will falls asleep to strong arms around his waist and the soft weight of Hannibal's resting cock against his ass.

 

#

_Everything we've ever stolen_  
_Has been lost, returned or broken_  
_No more dragons left to slay_  
_Every mistake I've ever made_  
_Has been rehashed and then replayed_  
_As I got lost along the way_

#

 

Will wakes to light from the porthole window across his eyes. He squints and squirms away from it and blinks sleepily up at the ceiling. It's their first morning back on the Abigail since she returned to the water and he hadn't realized how much he missed the almost unnoticeable rocking of the boat until he'd stepped back on-board her. The master bedroom's decorated with creams and blacks and trailing golds, and Will has to admit that it suits both the room and Hannibal. Eccentric and classy all at once.

Beside him, Hannibal snuffles softly in his sleep and Will turns his head to watch him. He's curled up on his stomach, head pillowed on one arm and the other outstretched towards Will as if Hannibal's seeking him in his sleep. At some point during the night, he's kicked the quilt off leaving a glorious stretch of back and ass open to the play of golden light from the windows. Will drinks his fill of the sight unashamedly and then reaches out to run a hand down the length of Hannibal's back.

Hannibal shifts in his sleep and Will grins, rolling over onto his side to be better able to reach and then strokes his way down Hannibal's back again and over the curve of his ass. When he glances back up Hannibal's eyes are open, gazing sleepily back at him.

“Please don't stop on my account.” He says, voice a sleep rough rasp and Will obliges him, sliding in closer until he's pressed up against Hannibal's side and strokes down the length of him again.

Hannibal sighs happily, back arching slightly and raising his buttocks into Will's palm. Will swallows with a soft click, and slides his hand down further, thumb sliding into the crack of Hannibal's ass and tugging it open just slightly. It's Hannibal's turn to swallow, and when Will lifts his head to lock eyes with him again there's an open look of need on his face.

“Can-” Will begins, and has to swallow again as the moment grows heavy and loaded between them. They've not done anything sexual since Hannibal blew him in the hotel's shower but suddenly Will really wants more. “I want to fuck you.”

“Yes,” Hannibal says, shuddering, voice barely a sigh and then stronger: “There's lube in the night stand.”

“Presumptuous of you.”

“Or just practical.”

Will doesn't have a response to that, doesn't really care to anyway and he pulls away reluctantly from Hannibal's side to fetch the lube. While he's doing so Hannibal commandeers Will's pillow and tucks it in under his hips, smiling back unrepentantly when Will frowns at him.

“Why mine?” He grumbles, sliding down the bed until he's settled by Hannibal's raised hips. Hannibal shrugs and pillows his head on his folded arms.

“Because I'm the one about to have your cock up my ass?” He says, casually folding his arms under his head. And _oh_ , apparently filthy words from Hannibal's mouth is a _thing_ for Will because his cock goes from half hard to rigid in moments. Hannibal shoots him a smug look at his gasp and Will cracks a hand down across his ass in retribution. Hannibal goes rigid, breath catching in his chest and Will's about to apologize when he _whines_ and cants his hips up higher _._ “Fuck. Will _please._ ”

What follows is a fumbling of lube slick fingers and breathless moans as Will showers Hannibal's lower back and thighs in kisses. Hannibal is tight around Will's fingers, hot and slick from what is probably far more lube than is needed but Will's not taking any chances, and honestly, the wet squelch his fingers are making _inside_ Hannibal is one of the hottest things he's ever heard.

After a while longer, Hannibal reaches behind to knock Will's hand away with a snarl, rearing up onto his knees and lifting his ass into the air pointedly.

“Now Will.” The demand isn't necessary, Will's already moving into position, slicking his cock with yet more lube as he does so. The head of his cock presses up against the swollen furl of Hannibal's asshole. For a moment it catches and then Hannibal opens to him and he sinks in with a groan that Hannibal echoes a second later. Will means to take it slowly, but Hannibal shoves up impatiently when he pauses and Will gives in.

It's hot and slick and messy. Hannibal's a bossy bottom apparently, shoving himself up into Will's thrusts when it's not hard enough for his tastes. He's also vocal, a constant stream of gasps and moans and utterly _filthy_ dirty talk. Will holds him down with one hand on the back of his neck, the other digging into the flesh of Hannibal's hip as he fucks into him roughly. Hannibal's got one hand between his legs, stroking his cock in time to Will's thrusts and the other clenched white-knuckle tight on the bed's sheets. Will shifts his hips until he's hitting Hannibal's prostate on every thrust and Hannibal wails out a string of yes and fuck and love you, love you, love you until all he can do is gasp breathlessly and shake apart with the force of his orgasm.

Hannibal collapses down onto the bed, shuddering and shaking and Will follows him down, wraps his arms around Hannibal's shoulders and thrusts into him hard. Hannibal pants brokenly and shoves his hips back into Will's shakily, ass still clenching spasmodically around Will's cock. He whispers Will's name in a broken, exhausted voice and Will snarls and bites down on the meat of his shoulder hard enough to break the skin as he comes.

“Fuck Hannibal.” Will groans, and has just enough control to collapse off to the side instead of on top of Hannibal.

Hannibal shifts slowly, exhaustedly, onto his side until he's facing Will and then tugs him up into his arms. Taking the hint Will slides in closer until he can catch Hannibal's lips in a kiss, slow and deep as he strokes a hand down the length of Hannibal's side and just enjoys the closeness and afterglow. He drifts back to sleep like that, tucked in close to Hannibal's chest.

He wakes to the smell of coffee and something cooking, and to the sight of Beverly watching him from where her head rests on the bed's mattress. Will reaches out lazily to give her a scratch behind her ear and she brays happily in response, standing up to do a little shuffling dance of excitement. Will laughs and sits up to give her a proper petting.

“Breakfast is ready Will.” Hannibal calls through from the kitchenette, and Will calls back an affirmative. He pulls on a pair of butter soft sweatpants - cashmere probably knowing Hannibal - and follows Beverly out of the bedroom.

Hannibal's stood before the stove, for once only in trousers himself and Will has to wonder how much of that choice is simply in consideration of easy access later. It makes for a pretty sight either way; there's the faint mark of fingers on Hannibal's hips and Will's bite mark stands out red and proud against his bare shoulder. The sight of it makes Will want to add more right this moment. He placates himself by pressing a kiss against it instead.

Hannibal presses back into his embrace for a moment before directing Will towards the small dining table. Will sits obediently, taking a sip from the glass of juice waiting for him, and enjoys the sight of Hannibal in his element. His plate, when it's set before him, is strikingly familiar.

“Protein scramble Doctor?”

“It seemed... fitting.” Hannibal says, taking his own seat across from Will.

“Suppose so.” Will replies, spearing a chunk of sausage on his fork and smiling at the slow look of satisfaction that blooms across Hannibal's face as he chews.

 

#

_Save me from drowning in the sea_  
_Beat me up on the beach_  
_What a lovely holiday_  
_There's nothing funny left to say_

 

**Author's Note:**

> My mental image for Beverly is a Petit Basset Griffon Vendéen, a breed of french scenthounds that really are known for singing along with songs. The Abigail is a Dutch Barge (mostly just cause that's what I know best, but also because you're gonna need that sort of space options for the sort of kitchen Hannibal's going to want).


End file.
